


Payment in Kind

by MirandaShepard_93



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal, Blow Jobs, Dom/sub, F/M, Geralt is demanding, Mast/Slave dynamic, PWP, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Tearing clothes, dubcon, face fucking, payment in kind, you know what that means
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-17 20:29:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28980399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MirandaShepard_93/pseuds/MirandaShepard_93
Summary: After being tricked into taking a dangerous job, Geralt is weary, aching, and furious with his employer - despite her promises of a big reward, she has nothing to pay him with... well, no money, anyway. Out of patience and ready to snap, the Witcher demands payment in kind - a transaction that isn't as one-sided as it first seems.Heavy dubcon and humiliation elements, avoid if this is not your thing,
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 29





	Payment in Kind

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheWeirdDane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWeirdDane/gifts).



The Nekker fell with a wet thump, blood oozing from the gaping wound in its belly as it wheezed and twitched. Geralt wiped the sweat from his brow with his forearm and peered at it in the gloom. This was not the chieftain that was terrorizing the homestead, 

"Fuck." He muttered and stepped over the cooling corpse; dozens of the bastards had fallen beneath his blade, and he was still no closer to payment. That was the last thought that went through his head before his face hit the dirt and claws were slicing through his armour and flesh like butter. Geralt pushed up and turned, rolling the Nekker onto its back before ramming his head back into its face and tearing free. It was the Chieftain, of course, which was the only stork of luck he supposed he would get because even as he prepared an _igni_ sign, he heard the rest of its clan bounding through the trees. "Fuck!" He barked and rolled free, making a break for a nearby rock formation. Something to get his back to - the last thing you should do when fighting Nekkers was let yourself become surrounded. That was practically lesson number one. The _Qu_ _en_ sign wasn't easy to make on the move, but it was worth the few moments of momentum he lost before planting a foot on the rock face and launching himself over the head of the closest beast. The silver sword slid through the flesh and bone of its neck smoothly when he landed, and Geralt used the force of his spin to tear it free, sending a spray of gore into the air. The next fell under the clean arc of the blade, while the third fell to a hasty _igni_ sign. The fourth Nekker, however, barrelled into him and bore him back into the stone. As the remaining Nekkers swarmed him. Geralt let the _quen_ shield go, the wave of energy throwing them back as the Chieftain took to the air. He raised his sword, but it was too slow, too clumsy, to be clean and caught it in the belly, making it scream and thrash. The Chieftains guts spilt out in hot, slimy ropes, pooling around his boots as it thrashed in agony and its minions fled. Geralt raised the silver blade and plunged it into the creature's skull, bringing silence to the forest again. 

Weariness washed over him in a wave that made his head spin. It was tempting to return to the damn woman and tell her to kill the other three herself... but for 250 orens... With a sigh, Geralt slid the sword back into its sheath, pulled a vial of cats eye from a pouch on his belt, and started to track the survivors, hopefully to their nest. 

****

The three-hour tracking mission ended in another dog pile of a fight that made every part of his body ache. Geralt dragged himself into the homesteads yard as dawn was starting to break - the farmhands gave him a wide berth as they made their way out into the fields. The woman, girl perhaps would be a better term because she couldn't have been more than 24, froze when she saw him. Not for the first time in his life, Geralt wondered by he had never chosen a simple, pretty woman like her; her curling red hair caught the light just so, and her pale, milky throat and shoulders looked soft. They probably smelled sweet, too, he thought as she nervously approached. All of this, of course, was just a way to ignore the rising sense of dread. She looked... guilty. She beckoned him to follow her into a barn and left the door slightly ajar, 

"Sorry, witcher, you make the farmhands nervous," she said with a spasm of a smile, 

"I'm used to it," Geralt raised a brow as she handed him a coin purse which was pretty much the right size, but definitely the wrong weight. "Miss..."

"Sarah," the girl said with a slightly petulant air, "my name is Sarah."

"Right. Sarah, do you want to tell me how much is actually in this, or will I tip it out?" He asked, and her face went pale, 

"I... um..." she looked to the barn door and bit her lip, "I... 50 orens."

"That's a fair amount away from the 250 we agreed on, girl,"

"I couldn't find anymore," she whispered, 

"Don't lie to me," he said, rage curdling in his stomach, "you knew you wouldn't get the 250."

"I... yes,"

"You lied to me."

"I'm sorry," her voice was tiny in the cavernous, golden space of the barn, 

"Why?"

"I didn't think you'd do it for 50."

"You're damn right I wouldn't have," he growled, "the materials for the traps alone..." 

"I'm sorry," she whimpered, "I... didn't know what to do... since my father died I -"

"That's not my problem."

"I know!" Sarahs eyes were welling with tears, and Geralt wasn't sure if he wanted to soothe her or slap her, "but they were tearing the animals up at night and I couldn't do anything, and then I heard there was a witcher in town and..." she spread her hands "I'm _sorry."_

"That rings hollow when you got what you needed and I have a 5th of what I was promised. 50 orens won't feed my horse or give me a roof over my head tonight."

"You.. could... sleep here?"

"50 orens and a stay in a barn for 30 Nekker corpses and wounds that'll take weeks to heal," he grunted, "I don't think so, girl."

"What do you want me to do?" Sarah asked, 

"Get me my money," Geralt stepped forward, making her cower back, 

"I can't," she gasped, "I don't have that..."

"You will, or you'll find another way to pay me for my time." Even as he said it, he knew how it sounded. His mind rebelled at the thought, and then his eyes fell on her heaving breasts and it stilled. Why not, he thought, this little slip of a thing had found a way to royally fuck him. Why shouldn't he get to return the favour? Her face was pale, her eyes were wild, 

"I could get another 25 tomorrow..."

"I'll take that, too." He crossed his arms and licked his lips, 

Sarah looked at the barn door again, and in the split second she took to decide to run, Geralt made his own choice. He grabbed her arm and pulled her in, pointing at her as she opened her mouth to scream, 

"Don't." He growled. "You have two choices, girl. You can pay me in kind, or you can try to spin this but either way, I promise you _will_ pay me. It's not good to cross a witcher."

"I... what do you want?" Sarah asked, but her eyes were already on his boots. Was he this man? She took a deep breath and her breasts shuddered. Today he was, yes. He'd been too long on the road, too long cold, too long hungry, too badly hurt to be run around by a girl with more tits than brains. 

"You know what I want," he said, "I want my money."

"I don't have your money," she raised her head, "you'll have to take something else."

"You know what I'll have if that's the case." Geralt gripped her chin and tilted it up, forcing her to meet his eye, "gold or flesh, girl. Which is it?"

"You're not giving me a _choice,_ " she gasped, "this isn't fair!"

"And asking me to exterminate a Nekker nest for less than the value of their hides was?"

"...no."

"Lying to me was?"

"No." She hiccuped, 

"Trying to make me _pity_ you when you lied to me is?"

"... no," she whispered, "I'm sorry."

"Prove it," he grunted and hooked a foot around her knee, making her tumble to the floor. Her knees hit the bar floor with a thud and her hands flew out to grip his thighs for leverage, "pay your way." Without looking at her big, watery eyes Geralt undid his laces, freeing his cock. To his shame, he was already hard. Sarah swallowed and looked up at him, 

"Please don't make me do this."

"I won't if you pay me." 

Sarah drew in a breath and gripped his cock with her small hand. God, it felt like heaven - cool and soft and oh-so gentle. Almost like a lovers hand, 

"Get on with it," he grunted and gripped her hair, "I'm not your fucking husband." As she opened her mouth to say something, Geralt tugged her hair to pull her head back and pushed his cock into her mouth. Sarah squirmed and grunted and squeezed his hips before she got the message and started to suck, hollowing her cheeks. The first wave of pleasure, rather than making him relax, sent a fission of lighting through his body and made his muscles clench hard. She gasped as his hand tightened and tried to squirm away. As she pulled away, he followed her and somehow, she ended up sitting on her rear while he loomed over her, leaning against a support post as he thrust into her mouth almost mindlessly, growling and moaning as she made small, wet, gasping sounds and spit spilled out onto her chin and down her neck. 

There wasn't enough friction. There wasn't enough of anything. With a sudden growl of frustration, Geralt pushed her away and stepped back to pulled his jerkin off and drag his shirt over his head while she gasped, head leaning against the wooden partition between the part causeway and a stable. The shine of her spit on her chin made him angry for some reason, 

"Come here," Geralt growled, and when she tried to stand he shook his head, "crawl." He was angry at himself, he realised, of course, he was. She was a girl. 25 at a push and he was taking payment from her body like a fucking- he dragged her into the centre of the barn by the hair, blocking out the thoughts as he threw her onto a hay bale on her back. She yelped when he grabbed her loose, shabby dress and tore it down the middle with his bare hands. The golden light made the tiny hairs on her breasts and stomach shine. There was nothing to her - just tits and arse with big eyes and a haze of red pubic hair that set a fire in his stomach. And under that, a different kind of shine. He laughed, "really?" He pushed two fingers into her cunt without preamble, making her yelp and scribbled at his wrist, "you're enjoying this?"

"No." Sarah gasped, 

"Yes you are, you're wet," Geralt rumbled, "maybe this is what you wanted all along?"

"No."

"I think it was," he said, voice hoarse and coming in short pants, "I think you wanted to know how a monster fucks, girl."

"I..." whatever she was going to say, it was lost in a long, sweet moan that made him smile, 

"Quiet now, wouldn't want your farmhands to hear how much you like servicing your staff... they might take a turn of their own." It was cruel, he knew, but she flushed and gasped, eyes watering, "maybe you'd like that, too?"

"No," she shook her head, 

"Sure? I could take time to watch that - the sight of you on your knees for three men might just cover my hurt feelings, 

"Please don't," Sarah whimpered, "I don't-"

"You just want me?"

"... yes," she nodded almost desperately, 

"If you insist." 

He'd have to drink himself to oblivion to stop hating himself for this, Geralt thought somewhere in the back of his mind as he took a handful of her tits and licked the pale pink nipple, pressing his cock to her slit, making her sob and moan. She was tiny, legs splayed around his hips at an angle that was almost painful to look at, cunt seeming to clench against him at first, and then around him as he slid into her. When his cock was halfway in she gasped and beat at his chest, 

"Stop, it's too much."

Geralt ginned and looked down, 

"Maybe it is," he murmured and circled his thumb over her clit, making her whine and squirm. "You don't get fucked often enough, girl, I can feel you-" he showed her with his hand, the way her cunt was clenching around him and she blushed, 

"Fuck you, witcher," she managed a fair amount of venom, but it was softened by the sudden whimper that followed his thrust, 

"That's the point, girl." He watched himself slid in and out of her, marvelling at the way she stretched to accommodate him, watching her tits bounce as sweat formed on her chest and small flecks of airborne hay settled into her hair. Her face was flushed, her cunt was milking him. The guilt eased - she was enjoying this. Geralt smirked, "beg."

"Please," she gasped almost before he had finished the word, "please fuck me, please." His brows shot up to his hairline, 

"So eager, maybe I'll come back," he leaned to whisper in her ear, "should I come back and keep you well-fucked, girl?"

"I..."

"Well?"

"Yes," she gasped, and he was sure she was saying it for effect, but it made his cock jump, 

"Yes, what?"

"Yes... please?"

He dragged her forward and brought his hand down on her exposed arse. Sarah yelped, 

"Please...please, witcher?"

Another slap. Harder, making his palm sting - he covered her mouth with his other hand just before the howl tore from her mouth and broke into hard, ragged thrusts, filling the barn with the sounds of skin on skin and an obscene, wet smacking. When he slowed he whispered in her ear, 

"Try again."

"Please... sir?" She gasped and Geralt laughed, 

"Clever girl." He kissed her cheek and pulled her from the hay bale onto his lap, making her whimper as the last of his length buried itself in her. "You came." It wasn't a question, but she blushed and nodded anyway, whimpering when he slapped her cheek lightly, "what?"

"Yes, sir."

"That's not fair," he tutted, "you're supposed to be working off a debt, not enjoying yourself." 

She was dazed, holding onto his shoulders, shaking, and blinked owlishly at him but seemed to get the hint when he swatted her arse, moving up and down on his lap slowly, at first, then more quickly, gasping and moaning as she did so. Geralts thighs and lower stomach were slick with her juices, frustration was building in his stomach again. There was no _friction._ He lifted her without warning and spun her, putting her stomach over the hay bale, exposing her wet slit and trembling thighs. With two fingers he gathered up her juices, spreading her cheeks with the other, 

"What-" Sarah raised her head, but he hushed her before sliding his middle finger into her arse. She gasped and kicked, shaking her head, "please-" the sentence died with a moan when he slid his cock into her again, fucking her slowly, steadily as he worked his fingers in and out of her, stretching and preparing her. By the time she was gasping and trembling, on the edge of another peak, he had three fingers in her, 

"Are you going to cum again?" He asked almost mildly, she moaned in response, "answer me, Sarah."

"Yes."

"Filthy whore," he laughed and slapped her. She laughed too, weakly, and Geralt found he was grinning, "I think I will come back," he kissed her earlobe as he pressed the head of his cock to her, "try to relax." He worked her clit with clumsy, slippery fingers as he eased into her. The moans were just on the right side of shrill, her hands fisted in the loose strands of hay. When she came, she threw back her head and moaned, hips jerking and pushing back into him, pulling him deeper and scrambling to get away by turns. He looked at the barn door. If anyone was out there they _had_ heard that. He straightened and gripped her hips, gave her a few moments to adjust and started to thrust, laughing quietly as she whimpered and yelped, using her hands to push back onto him. Eventually he let his hands slip away and stayed still, watching her round, pale ass, smattered with the indentations of hay and red welts from his hands, taking him over and over and over, "good girl," he murmured, tracing her ribs with his fingertips, 

"Oh _fuck you_ witcher," she snapped suddenly, but her voice was high and shaking. He brought his hand down on her rear again, 

"What?"

"Fuck you _sir,_ " Sarah growled and he snorted, gripping her hips again, reaching to cover her mouth with one hand, 

"Quiet now," he purred and put his weight and strength behind every thrust, chasing his pleasure until a white-hot fire took hold in the pit of his belly and he spilt into her. In the aftermath, they panted together.

"Is that sufficient payment?" She asked wryly, all her earlier panic gone, 

"Just about," he grunted, 

"Just about?!" 

"I'd kill for a glass of water." 

"... I'll give you one if you bring me fresh dress," she gasped and shivered as he pulled out of her, 

"Seems fair."


End file.
